


A Lonely Christmas (Phan)

by wilted_hearts



Category: Phan, dan and phil
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Cute, M/M, Phanfiction, phanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 02:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11221404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilted_hearts/pseuds/wilted_hearts
Summary: Please note that this is less of a relationship-y fanfic and more about their friendship. But I hope you like enjoy it anyways :)





	A Lonely Christmas (Phan)

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is less of a relationship-y fanfic and more about their friendship. But I hope you like enjoy it anyways :)

It was a lazy Friday evening. The air was thin and hazy, thick layers of frost pasted against the window sills and park benches. It was nearing dinner time, and most people were about during the holiday season buying Christmas gifts and meeting their friends at warm cafés.

Dan didn’t have this luxury.

He stood on the street alone, watching aimlessly at the small children’s happy faces and half listening to the gossip being passed around amongst a group of teenaged girls. This wasn’t how he usually spent Christmas.

As a child, this was always his favorite time of year. Even as an angsty teen, he still cracked plenty of smiles as soon as it started to snow, and the feeling of gathering around the fire on a chilly night with a mug of hot cocoa was like no other. But this year felt different. There was a cold sort of chill to his bones, and it was one that couldn’t be fixed by sitting in front of the fire. He had it ever since the beginning of December; he just knew things weren’t the same.

He couldn’t enjoy things like he used to. Instead, he had to look at everything like a symbol of death and of inevitable sadness. He took every sign he was offered that suggested just how lonely he was. He didn’t want to be like this, he really didn’t, but it couldn’t be helped. When his mum called him up on the phone to wish him a happy holiday, he had croaked a barely believable laugh and hung up before she could notice. He got out of the house as often as he could, hoping that the cheer buzzing through the streets and busy shoppers would be enough to jolt him out of this rut, but it wasn’t. He found himself standing there like an outsider, watching the smiles play out before him like in a movie. He almost couldn’t remember a time when he was so young. So carefree.

He was looking sadly at the small girl who was now tugging her mother’s sleeve, pointing at the doll in the window. She had wide eyes, and she smiled so intently. When Dan looked at her, he gave a tiny smile. He could see just how pure everyone was. But it only made him feel worse.

What had he done to be so different from everyone?

The mother looked up from her phone and caught Dan’s eye. She raised an eyebrow and he jumped, quickly turning away with his head down. He felt his face burning with the familiar sensation of awkwardness. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he made his way quickly down the pavement, looking at the least amount of people he could. He watched the light snow stick to the toes of his black shoes, hearing people shuffle past him. In a few painful seconds, he finally reached the end of the street and made a quick turn onto the quiet side of the road. Dan felt his breath finally let out from his lungs, lingering in a white cloud below his nose. He felt himself physically cringe at how awkward he sometimes had to be.

Relaxing a bit, now that there were hardly any people around, he slowly made his way down the street, admiring the snowy lampposts that began to glow under the dampening sky. As the road stretched on and on, bringing him forth into endless grey, Dan couldn’t help it as his mind began to wander.

He kept doing this. He kept playing back the moments in his head like scenes on a movie screen. He could see the words coming back to life, the strange feelings of dread and the flicker of his best friend’s eyes that felt oh-so real. His friend, Phil, had stood in front of him on the cold morning as he made his morning coffee. The night before had been one of those nights when you stay home just to do nothing, but somehow everything happens. Dan had been smiling endlessly, remembering the times they couldn’t stop laughing and the minutes of sitting in perfect silence, as if it was the lack of noise that made every puzzle piece fit together. Almost, at least. 

And this morning had been on the first day of December. Phil had sipped his drink contently, and as Dan walked in and leaned against the counter, he could almost feel a certain hint to the air that didn’t exist before. Sure, there may have been moments, but this almost felt like a mutual consensus. Dan was sure that this friendship would last a lifetime. 

In fact, it was this morning that the first mention of Christmas came about. Usually they vacationed with their separate families, living the days until the 25th surrounded by jumpy cousins and too many glasses of eggnog. But as Dan had noticed, things felt calm. It was almost as if he and Phil could just stand in the kitchen forever, not having to go anywhere or do anything and yet it was the most magical experience he could ever imagine. And, it was this morning that Phil mentioned Christmas. Dan remembered exactly how he stood in front of the window when it happened. The edges of his black hair turned white from the kitchen lights, and he looked up at Dan from behind his mug.

Dan, let’s spend Christmas together.

It wasn’t a question. No, Phil had said it just like that. Dan stumbled on the street as the image flickered and he felt himself becoming weaker the more he remembered.

Yes, Dan had said.

But it hadn’t happened. Because things didn’t work out like that. Phil had began to drift, and Dan became angry. Angry, because he was afraid he was losing his best friend. Maybe he wasn’t, and maybe everything had been fine, but Dan felt the weight and the panic. He didn’t want to start over. He wanted to have the moment of them lying on the floor laughing to go on forever. Dan pushed Phil away. Gradually, the seems broke. There was something so old and delicate about what they had. There wasn’t enough to pull through, and so Phil left.

He was invited to spend Christmas, and he’d taken the offer. Dan wasn’t excited about Christmas anymore.

It all fell.

It was all too complicated. Dan knew that if only things had been simple, like a childhood play, then maybe they could carry on that feeling forever. But Dan couldn’t. He couldn’t make things simple. His mind was too complex.

He stood shivering on the streets of London, the air finally biting down through his skin. He drew a sharp breath. He kept walking. Empty lots and dusty shop windows passed, but he looked blindly at the horizon. It was bleak, nothing but darkness hanging there. His feet dragged along, but they almost didn’t feel like a part of him. Maybe they were, in some other life.

He was pulled along the road. He could forget about all this. He already felt the coldness eating him away, bringing him farther and farther into darkness than he could ever imagine.

He stumbled over the mat laid out in front of a small store. Dan caught himself swiftly before turning to look at it's cracked door frame and peeling paint. It was another shab, a hole in the wall. He glanced carelessly over the dolls in the window display. Their silly hairstyles and painted on smiles almost seemed to mock him. How could someone create something so simple? Didn’t they realise a life was more than a face and a pair of clothes?

But he stopped. He saw something else. Sitting in the corner, wearing not a single sweater or ribbon and dressed in a tangle of frizzy orange fir, was a small stuffed lion. Dan felt his heart drop right down to his snow-soaked feet. He blinked and he saw the lion blink back with black buttoned eyes. His throat felt tight. He looked at the little creature, the tiny harmless toy, and nothing could stop the memories from coming back.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Phil. Dan bit his lip, tasting salt as his body lurched in uncanny ways. His stomach was twisted and he choked as he held back his sobs. It was building up inside him. He had to face it.

He missed his friend.

Minutes seemed to pass by in what felt like seconds, as Dan’s eyes stayed glued to the little toy and his heart beats gradually accelerated. It was trying to pull him in, and he was used to resisting. But something changed. It’s small, innocent face. It’s mournful eyes that were frozen in angst. The lonely, dull shop it sat in and the possibilities that awaited it. It could’ve been anything. But, as Dan stood alone on the eve before Christmas and looked at the small lion, he started to cry.

He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t forced into an existential crisis because that was fate. The walls surrounding him were being pushed down. He could see now, that he was trying to blame something for what he felt. He was trying to blame Phil, but Phil was the only person who could make Christmas worthwhile.

Dan’s skin pricked as he felt his tears turn cold. He sniffed, wiping them away quickly with his hand, and before he could think twice about it, his phone was between his shaking fingers and he was dialing a number he had almost forgotten.

It was pressed against his ear. He listened as it rang, once, twice, three times, four . . .

Dan’s mouth was growing dry as he realised he may not get an answer. Before he could hang up, though, there was a quiet click.

. . .

“Hello?”

Dan immediately lost all memory of how to speak. Instead, a strange wave of calmness washed over him. Phil’s voice, he had missed it so much. He could almost see his face along with it, high cheekbones and glossy, round eyes, his thin fingers holding the phone on the other end.

“Uh, hello?”

The voice repeated, a little more urgent this time.

“Phil,” Dan whispered, although it was more of a sob. There was a long pause. 

“Dan . . . what are you doing?”

Dan wasn’t thinking about what he should say, he just wanted Phil to know how he felt.

“I need you,” Dan said shakily.

“Dan . . .” Phil pressed, but there was a slight quiver to his voice. It was almost as if he couldn’t quite convince himself he was unbothered by this.

“Please,” Dan was begging now, gripping the phone harder and harder as he couldn’t stop shaking. “I’m sorry. This has all turned to shit, but I’m sorry. Just come back.”

He felt so small as he held his own trembling body, crying over Christmas like a baby. The other end only crackled. Dan felt his head grow light as the silence grew on.

His head raced as he began to realise how stupid he was. He was a 25 year old man, and he was whining about not spending one holiday with his best friend. It was silly, immature. Phli would never come back, no matter how much Dan begged him. Maybe he would fly back home, meet Dan in the airport with a wave and a half-hearted smile and share a few words about the other’s vacation, but it would feel empty. Dan just knew things wouldn’t be the same.

Suddenly, out of the vast, empty street echoed a sound.

It was laughter.

Dan was so prepared for the inevitable rejection that the noise sounded unfamiliar at first. It was almost inhuman, at least until Dan recognised Phil’s laugh. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Of course I’ll come back,” Whether Dan was imagining it or not, Phil’s voice sounded the happiest it ever had. “You’re my best friend. How could I ever just leave you?”

“Well, I,” but Dan couldn’t seem to think of what to say. He stared at the lion in the window, and a strange sensation of warmness washed through him. A smile bubbled onto his chapped lips.

“See you soon, Howell.”

Dan opened his mouth to ask when he’d return, but Phil had already disconnected. He turned his phone off slowly, looking up to see the snow holding a new white glow. As he made his way back home, doubt flickered in the back of his mind again.

How did he know Phil really meant what he said?

What if things wouldn’t change once he was back?

Christmas was tomorrow anyways, he’d still have to spend it alone.

-

The morning felt strange and slow, and Dan was unsure whether to go get coffee or wait for Phil to arrive. He stepped into the empty living room, feeling the presence of families around him opening presents and sharing laughs, and he had never felt like Phil was so far away. Dan had called him a few times that morning, taken over by his own doubt and worry, but it had gone to voicemail.

Dan sat down, his legs aching and head pounding (the lack of sleep was finally catching up to him). He wasn’t sure what to do. His foot drummed anxiously against the wood floorboards. Outside the window he could see that everything was still. Not a snowflake fell from the sky. It was as if time was frozen there. He looked up to the door every few minutes, half expecting Phil to thrust it open at any second with a smile big enough to make up for every day they’d been apart. But the house remained silent.

Dan’s skin was itching. He started to bubble with annoyance at Phil. If he was coming, why didn’t he already? It was already after lunch, Christmas was half over, and Dan had done nothing but sit in his pajamas and moan into the couch cushions.

The hours drew on. It was two o’clock, then three. Three thirty, and Dan got up to eat some stale toast and get dressed. Four o’clock, and he stood outside as children in sleds sped by him. Five o’clock. The sky was descending into darkness, and street lights popped on all around him. Six o’clock, then seven. Dan went inside, his fingers icy blue and his nose red from the cold. Seven thirty, eight, eight thirty. He stared hollowly out his bedroom window at the black, deserted sidewalks. Nine o’clock, and everyone was inside by now, finishing up their Christmas feasts and curling up in front of the fire to talk in calmed voices. Nine thirty, and the house felt more cold than ever. In each shadow that passed him in the hallways, he felt himself being swallowed up. Ten o’clock, and Dan fell onto the hallway floor and cried. It was embarrassing just to think about. Him, alone, crying for no good reason and letting snot coat his fingertips because he hadn’t thought to grab tissues. Ten thirty he got up, washed his hands and his face until his skin felt smooth and dry.

Eleven o’clock.

Dan was back at the couch. He looked down at his lap, feeling more and more like an idiot. He’d waited all day, wasting away the hours like he had some unspoken goal that made him smarter than he appeared. But really, it was for nothing.

At least that's what Dan thought.

A knock, jarring compared to the vast silence that filled the apartment, sounded at the front door. Dan looked up. He sat frozen for longer than he should’ve, until there was a second knock. He still didn’t stand up, his legs glued to the sofa and heart pounding infinitely faster against his ribcage.

Phil had a key. If it was him, he’d come in.

He heard the metallic sound of the knob turning, sighing against wood as a footstep fell onto the mat. Each step, slightly louder than the last, made his anxiety bubble. But Dan could hear it, the pause between heel and toe and the quiet sound of fabric moving against itself. It was unmistakably Phil’s walk.

There was silence again. Dan looked to his right to see a shadow fallen on the diningroom table.

Dan stood up and ran towards it. Phil was there, his black hair scruffy and unwashed after the long plane ride, his dusty blue hoodie hugging his waist and cheeks bright red from the biting winter air. His glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose and his backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder. Dan stood hovering, wanting to reach out and touch him, just to make sure he was real.

“Merry Christmas, Dan.”

Phil’s voice was deep, tired, cracking at the edges. Dan heard everything in it. Guilt, tears, but above all, happiness. And so he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his friend and holding him close. Phil’s arms, long and warm, squeezed Dan back. Dan knew Phil was sorry, and Phil knew that he was forgiven.

Dan breathed into his shoulder, feeling its softness and never wanting to let go. Home. This was what home felt like.

Because Dan knew, he knew now why he had felt so desolate. And he knew why the house felt gloomy and unfamiliar. His home was not a house, or a room, or a city. His home was Phil.

He managed a weak laugh, pulling apart from his friend to look at him in the eyes for the first time in weeks. “We only have an hour left of Christmas,” Dan said. He found himself on the verge of laughing for whatever reason, and saw that Phil’s eyes were crinkled as well.

“Then let’s make it the best hour of your life.”

That night, they were back. Dan realized it was silly that he was ever so concerned about losing Phil. He had thought their friendship was fading, that they were doomed to split up and the days of playing video games and laughing on the floor were over. But that night, an hour from midnight on Christmas day, was really the best hour of his life.

They made hot chocolates and dressed in pajamas and lay at the foot of Phil’s bed gossiping about how ridiculous Phil’s family was. And then they started laughing, even though Dan couldn’t remember what started it. They laughed until there were tears running down their cheeks and Dan’s stomach hurt and he swore he’d wake up the next morning with abs. And then Phil jumped up, wearing nothing but socks, and they ran down all the stairs and out the door of the apartment and stood under the snow that just began to fall.

Dan’s breathing, rugged from running down so many stairs, eventually calmed. He looked out over the streets, up at the little windows with lights flickering. He could see the moon’s light just peeking through the thick layers of cloud. Dan turned his head and watched, as each ice crystal landed at the roots of Phil’s eyelashes and collected like dust on his shoulders. Dan didn’t know if it was the snow or the hot chocolate in his belly or the grin spreading across his friend’s face, but at this moment Phil looked almost . . . beautiful.

Here, in the middle of the night, with snow falling in 0 degree weather, Dan felt warmer than he ever had before.


End file.
